But Maybe We Can Figure All This Out
by quotient
Summary: Ellen sees a lot in The Roadhouse, but with the Winchesters she's never quite sure what it is she's seeing. During Hunted.


Author's Note: Ah, yes, a companion piece to **We Used to Play for Keeps (but I don't know anymore)**. Hopefully there will be one more in this little series of mine.

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.

**But Maybe We Can Figure All This Out (After I've Slept for a Week)**

Ellen's daddy once told her that not all strays want to be adopted. He'd held her close as he'd said it, so that her cheek was pressed against his, the stubble scratching her smooth skin. It had been a hard lesson to learn back then, and it never failed to still be a hard lesson, even after all these years.

* * *

When Sam Winchester walks into the bar without Dean, Ellen knows. Jo has been gone for awhile now, run off into the great expanse known as the world, and there has been trouble at the bar, fights and arguments, the service too slow to stop it all without the extra help.

She remembers when she first saw him, sneaking into the back room, too big for himself. He looks the same way now, with his _aw, shucks_ smile, leaning in, eyes downcast. It's passing pleasantries between them but Ellen can feel the phone at her back like a physical weight; Dean's frantic voice louder than Sam's apologies and smile. The last postcard from Jo is crammed under the bar counter. _Found a job and an apartment_, translation, _I'm still alive_.

"I need help." He says.

Help, Ellen knows, is questionable.

At the age of ten there was this dog she found abandoned in the parking lot near the school. Its head was bowed as though it were only interested in the ground. Everyday after school she'd go sit with the thing, after it refused to follow her home, despite her coaxing with her left over lunch. Her dad started asking her why she was suddenly coming in so late, but she hadn't been quite sure what to say.

_It's okay, Ellie_ her dad had smiled, _You can keep your secrets, long as it ain't got nothin' to do with trouble_.

Sam says, "I'm trying to find answers, about who I am."

Ellen nods because she doesn't really have much to say to that. John liked to brag about Sam. She remembers, after the Stanford argument, how he'd called her up. That in itself should have been a major indication of just how proud he was. Beyond the odd phone call and occasional appearance, John was more like a ghost than Bill would ever be. She could hear the smile in his voice as he said things like _Scholarship_ and _Full Ride_.

It made her think of her own reaction to Jo's acceptance to college. How they'd both bent over the letter, taking turns reading sections aloud, every drink that night on the house, even though she really couldn't afford it. She'd called John, but had never been called back. Then, not even halfway through the semester, Jo had returned home, taking back up her place at her mother's side.

Sam says, "My brother means well but he can't protect me from that."

She nods because this isn't her fight and never has been. John is dead, Jo is gone. The only thing she knows about these boys is what they don't want. It doesn't make her watch Sam leave with an easier conscience.

"Wants to know who he is." She says, trying the words out on her tongue. They taste like a lie.

* * *

It's stupid, but she holds on for several days after Sam leaves. She sits at the bar, listening to another argument, another fight about to break out. The shotgun she keeps below the counter only works for so long. Sometimes there are knifings out in the parking lot that she can't do jack shit about.

The postcard from Jo has palm trees and a sandy beach. The ocean stretches out into forever. Bright, pink letters written in cartoon hand-writing proclaim _Wish You Were Here!_ As though she is actually wanted; actually needed.

She has Jo's high school graduation photo buried somewhere in her bedroom. Sometimes she wants nothing more than to pull it out, to see when Jo wanted college and a job. Those were the days when arguments weren't about life or death, but dating boys, getting home after curfew. When you're a teenager you're always testing the boundaries, trying to fit in, be unique; trying to find out who you are.

Just the same, when she calls Dean, hears the frantic plea, Ellen suddenly feels good. She feels in control. Her daddy's words are in the back of her mind, but all Ellen can think of is Jo in her graduation picture. Jo who came home to find herself before trying the world once again, who would've tried the world again if it hadn't been for the Winchesters.

But when she looks down, what she sees isn't sandy beaches or palm trees. What she sees is: _I'm still alive_.

"He's in Lafayette, Indiana"

There are voices being raised, a fight brewing as Dean hangs up. She fingers the shotgun gently, waiting. With Hunters, she's never quite sure what the fall-out will be.

* * *

It's the early hours Ellen loves more than anything. That time when there's just her and her work. She carries cases out of the basement, refills the on tap, cleans off tables, gives the bar a wipe-down. All the while, outside the morning sunlight burns bright, the sky still stunningly red and orange; she thinks, _red sky at morning, sailors take warning_. When Jo was little, they used to do this together, before she left for school.

Ash sleeps like the dead on the pool table, making Ellen smile despite a sense of dread uncurling in her stomach. She remembers when she finally told her daddy about the dog in the parking lot. He'd smiled at her, said, _well why didn't you say so, Ellie? I'd like to meet this new friend of yours_. By that time it was obvious that the dog was dying, or maybe that was only in hindsight.

She drums her fingers absently on the counter. Watching as the first customers trickle in, some with their heads bowed as though the ground were the most interesting thing in the world. Some were sporting fresh bruises and scars. The sights and sounds are familiar to her, and she readies some whiskey shots with something akin to a smile, but is more like a grimace.

Ellen wonders, sometimes, why John never brought the boys here; about why he kept coming in, shoulders hunched as though he were too big for himself, eyes downcast with an _aw, shucks_ smile. She'll never pretend to know anything about the Winchesters, classifies them as their own breed. She hears John over the phone saying _Scholarship_ and _Full Ride_, and Sam saying, _I'm trying to find answers about who I am_.

The day gets longer, the sky grows darker. She has a postcard from Jo that reads, _I found a job and an apartment_ and translates into _I'm still alive_.

When she hangs up on Dean, she grips the postcard hard in her hand. Her daddy warned her that even if it was for the best, not all strays want to be adopted. There's Sam and there's John saying _I need help_.

Help, Ellen knows, is questionable, but when she goes to bed that night, she hears Dean's frantic voice, louder than father or brother, and wonders what that means.


End file.
